


the flower doesn’t know (but the whole garden knows it)

by narrativefoiltrope



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Confessions, F/F, Late Night Conversations, Overheard Conversations, Requited Unrequited Love, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28968342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narrativefoiltrope/pseuds/narrativefoiltrope
Summary: nat overhears a late-night confession from (non-established relationship) detective mack halliday to her best friend, morgan.
Relationships: Female Detective/Natalie "Nat" Sewell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	the flower doesn’t know (but the whole garden knows it)

The warehouse kitchen was quiet. Steam curled from Nat’s teacup—bone china with a blue willow pattern, a surprisingly elegant birthday gift from Ava—and she took a moment to watch the ribbons rising from the lip, how they twisted into and away from one another before dissipating into the air. 

She wished her worries would disappear in such an easy manner. They had prevented her from sleeping. No matter what ritual she attempted—a bath with lavender and cardamom salts, slipping into her softest silk pajamas—rest evaded her, held hostage by the Trapper bounty.

Perhaps that metaphor was a bit too on the nose. Nat winced and willed herself not to picture the realities of the bounty, especially as they pertained to Mack. Mack, who seemed all too unconcerned about the price on her head; Mack, whom she desperately wanted to know but who was not yet willing to be known. Despite the bloom of her heart at the thought of the other woman, there was that ever-present undercurrent of hesitation. An ache that Nat prodded until it bruised.

She had padded into the kitchen seeking solace in the form of a cup of tea at the perfect temperature and a well-loved but impeccably preserved copy of Meer Taqi Meer’s _Kulliyat-e-Mir._ A hand hovering near her teacup, feeling the gentle warmth radiate out, told her that it was cool enough to drink. 

As she lifted it to her lips, steam kissing her nose and cheeks, she caught wind of a conversation which gave her pause, teacup suspended between the table and her mouth.

“What’re you doing with Nat, anyway?” asked Morgan, voice thick from cigarette smoke most likely. The sound drifted down from above and Nat guessed that she was haunting the warehouse roof as she was wont to do at night.

A small cough, spluttering and hacking from another voice—one which made Nat’s pulse flutter, recognisable even in its distortion when paired with the quiet bass-line of its owner’s heart—accompanied by a low snicker from Morgan, sounded out. 

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” Mack responded in a sharper, more defensive tone than usual.

“Don’t bullshit me, Mack. You know what I mean.” 

A long beat of silence. 

Nat realised that she was holding her breath. She was aware that this was not a conversation she was meant to hear, Morgan having seen her presumably go to bed an hour earlier. She should excuse herself, take her tea and her book and retreat to her room where she could play some music to give Morgan and Mack the privacy they deserved. 

And yet she longed to hear Mack’s response. Every fibre of her being, despite her best intentions, strained to focus on the conversation. She wanted, needed any kind of clarity on where she stood with Mack since Mack herself offered such muddied signals, never shying away from declaring her attraction to Nat but closing off, shutting down at the mere mention of more, of a relationship. 

Even so, Nat couldn’t stay to listen; it was not fair to either Morgan or Mack. She placed the teacup in its saucer, rose from the table, and lifted the teacup once more with its saucer in tow. 

Suddenly, Mack’s voice broke the silence and Nat once again found herself pausing. 

“I—” Mack broke off, emitting a frustrated groan. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

She should have kept walking. She should have left the kitchen, left well enough alone, but now her feet were firmly planted on the grey flagstone tiles.

She heard a gruff sigh, then Morgan’s voice. “Look, I’ve watched—and enjoyed—you two undress each other with your eyes every time you’re in the same room, but Nat leaves looking like a kicked puppy. It’s not my business, but if you hurt her, I’ll have to rip your throat out.” 

Nat clicked her tongue. That was excessive, though she appreciated Morgan’s loyalty. She hoped that Mack would not do such a thing—and if she did, it certainly would not be intentional; despite Mack’s naturally sharp tongue, she was kind (if not often pleasant)—but hope was a quick wilting flower now.

The silence above stretched out endlessly and lulled Nat into thinking the conversation had finished. It wouldn’t be the first time a harsh statement from Morgan inspired a retreat; perhaps Mack had decided no response was the safest response.

But then came Mack’s reply, spoken on a heavy exhale. “I like her, alright?” Another pause, then she continued, quickly and quietly, “I like her so much it scares the shit out of me.”

Nat’s heart leapt into her throat. Whatever she had anticipated hearing—or had tried not to hear—did not compare to that statement, an admission she had pined after for months now. 

She felt lightheaded. The teacup and saucer in her shaky hands chattered nearly in time with her rapid heartbeat; she carefully set them back on the table, not wanting to spill.

And yet from the conflicted tone of Mack’s voice, clear despite the distance between them, she knew that she would be waiting to hear such a confession from Mack herself. 

No matter. She could be a patient woman. Nat had waited 330 years for Mack; she could wait awhile longer for Mack to feel safe with her.

With that, Nat headed back to her room, tea and poetry long forgotten on the kitchen table.

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from a translation of a meer taqi meer couplet, which reads, "Every leaf and bud knows my situation, the flower doesn’t know but the whole garden knows it." 
> 
> i love exploring the tension in the (non-)relationship between a detective who is resisting N's romantic advances! it's very fun (sorry nat).
> 
> come yell about twc with me on tumblr @narrativefoiltrope!


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